The first incident

She was always the "naked woman", the "free spirit", the "nudist", despite always insisting she was not a nudist. Yet, before all that complicated mess became a part of her identity, she was just Candace, a teen from Iowa who had an artistic streak and had been looking forward to attending college in one of those Ivy League-adjacent colleges in the Boston area since at least sophomore year of high school.

It was several months before she turned 18, and the Iowa winter had snowed her in with her family as it was the last week before winter break. Candace was scrolling through her email when something from her dream school popped up.

"Your Admissions Decision is Ready"

Candace's heart skipped a beat as she ran to her closet and pulled out a sweatshirt from the school and put it on for good luck. Rushing back to her computer, she clicked on the link, fully expecting to read "We regret to inform you" but instead seeing confetti with a giant "Congratulations!" at the header.

Candace only skimmed the rest of the letter, seeing she got a full ride, before shrieking in excitement.

"Mom!!! I got in!!!"

She ran up to her mother Janice and gave her a big bear hug.

"Let's take a photo!" Janice insisted. Candace readily agreed as Gerald took pictures of his wife and daughter standing side by side, his daughter wearing a dark sweater with the college's name on it.

----

It was 10 years later, as Candace neared her 28th birthday, and she was coming back from work. Candace looked at that photo with a sense of mourning, looking down at herself currently clad in a permanently-unbuttoned short-sleeved blouse and black thigh-length skirt and sandals. She wasn't naked all the time just yet, but at this stage of life she was limited to wearing clothes for work and special occasions, and even then holding on to those clothes for dear life.

This was a far cry from the dog days of a decade ago, and she envied her past self who didn't have to think about how long her clothes would survive as a constant nag at the back of her mind. Candace bitterly noted that all the clothes she was wearing in the photo - the sweatshirt, the jeans, the t-shirt under the sweatshirt, and sure as hell the underwear and socks - had long been lost in the ensuing years of her wardrobe mishaps.

Candace could remember the first time these shenanigans happened. At first it was just a bad day, an extremely unfortunate set of circumstances that made everyone around her gush sympathy and that Candace was relieved to be over when she finally got dressed and could get on with her life. But then it happened again. And again. And it kept happening, to the point where it was no longer simply bad luck but a constant pattern that was increasingly becoming her life, until finally wearing clothes became the exception and not the rule for Candace.

Candace shut her eyes tightly and grimaced as she tried to repress thoughts about the first time she lost her clothes, and with it some sense of innocence.